


Find Your Team, Find Yourself

by just_a_winchester



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, College AU, Fluff, Found Family, Humour, M/M, Slice of Life, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-03-04
Updated: 2019-03-05
Packaged: 2019-10-27 11:12:12
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,014
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17765711
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/just_a_winchester/pseuds/just_a_winchester
Summary: Instead of trapping the Paladins in a quiz show, Bob sends the Voltron team to an alternate universe. It's up to the Paladins to find their way back to one another, before their old lives fade away for good.





	1. Introduction

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance arrives at Garrison University.

Lance opened his eyes.

His heart was racing. He inhaled, breathing heavily, the darkness of his bedroom almost oppressive. 

The remnants of the dream swirled in his head. Images of aliens, the stars, space battles...

He blinked. The images were already fading away, the details blurring into a mess of images and feelings he couldn't decipher from each other. They'd felt so real. Lance couldn't shake the tug in his stomach that told him the dream was important. 

He sat up. His duvet was twisted and crumpled around him; sweat clung to his skin. His bedroom looked the way it always did, clothes strewn across the floor, his DVD collection a monolith in the dark. Lance ran a hand over his face, rubbing at his tired eyes.

He glanced at the clock, and let out a groan; it was three in the morning. He flopped back on his bed, pressing his hands against his forehead. He didn't need this tonight. 

This was stress. 

Lance rolled over and went back to sleep. 

 

* * *

 

'Hey, dumbass. Take these, would you?'

Lance blinked blearily at Veronica, a pile of bags in her arms. He grabbed them off her quickly, lifting the heaviest one and hooking it over his shoulder. He could see his parents heading up the sidewalk towards the gate, pointing at the buildings, the students, other parents. Lance ducked his head when he saw his mom trying to take a selfie with her phone in front of the Garrison University sign; he could feel his cheeks burning in embarrassment.

It wasn't that he was ashamed of his parents. He loved his family, he really did, but his parents could be downright horrifying in public. There was a certain air to college - maybe it was the fact that there was actual,  _live_ ivy crawling up the walls of the buildings, or the fact that everywhere he looked he could see really pretty girls, good-looking guys, everyone carrying books, bags, furniture...it just wasn't the type of place you wanted your parents to be vacationing. 

Lance let out a whoosh of air when he felt an elbow in his back. He glared after Veronica, who let out an evil cackle as she headed after their parents. 'Come on,' she called over shoulder, balancing two boxes in her arms. 'Let's catch up to tourist one and two.'

The walk to Lance's dorm was dotted with frequent delays. His parents were determined to find every little item identified on the map they'd swiped from the student handing out information leaflets by the entrance. He wished he could get his headphones out of his pocket, but his hands were full with luggage. He cursed past-Lance for thinking he needed all this crap. 

'Look, there's the mascot, the Flying Ferret! Isn't she cute?'

'Honey, I can see science building! Look at that - are those cheerleaders?'

'Is that an ice-cream parlour? Lance,  _hijo_ , your campus has an ice-cream parlour!'

'I hope you brought enough underwear,  _hijo_ , the campus shop doesn't look like they sell it...'

Lance smiled apologetically at the people that had to navigate their way around his parents when they kept stopping. He could feel self-consciousness settling in his stomach like a stone, and resisted the urge to simply walk off on his own. He wouldn't know where to go, for starters, and being lost seemed detrimental when he could barely feel his fingers anymore under the weight of the bags. 'Mom, can we please just get to my dorm?' he muttered under his breath. 

She waved a hand at him, staring down at the map. 'In a minute,  _hijo_. We want to find the visitor's centre.'

They ended up arriving at his dorm an hour after they'd originally parked (which had taken them forty-five minutes in all the traffic). Lance felt like his arms were going to break off, and he unceremoniously dumped the bags on the floor before sinking gratefully into the stained mattress waiting for him. The room was empty except for him, but he'd been told he'd have a roommate. Apparently they weren't there yet. 

'Oh, you have a nice view!' his father said appreciatively. Lance had to agree; the dorm looked out over one of the quads, which was full of old oak trees and lamp posts and the greenest grass Lance had set eyes on outside of a memorial park. The quad was crowded with people heading to their dorms, and he was pleased to see he wasn't the only freshman who'd had to suffer through his family's antics. At least he hadn't been forced to wear matching t-shirts like the poor girl he spotted trying to hide behind a tree.

Lance turned around to see his mother putting on a mustard-coloured cap, the front of it embroidered with the words "ferret family" in a vomit-green.

'Where did you get that?' he asked, dreading the answer. 

She smiled at him. 'We picked it up when you were in the bathroom. Look, I got some other things too.' She reached into her bag and pulled out two more caps, a T-shirt, a mug, a Garrison University flag, and a handful of bright, mustard-coloured bracelets. She placed one of the caps on Lance's head and grinned.

'Perfect.'

Lance pulled the cap off and threw it under the bed the minute she wasn't looking. 

 

* * *

 

'I think you're all set.'

Lance nodded in agreement. The mattress was piled high with boxes, and the bags had been shoved against the wall. There was just enough room to fit between the beds and access the closet. He rolled his neck from side to side, shaking out his aching shoulders. It had taken them another hour to bring everything from the car back to the dorm - Veronica had had the bright idea to send their parents off to get lunch at the orientation buffet on the other side of campus, and she and Lance had spent the free time lugging everything else over to his room.  

He grinned at his sister. 'Thanks,' he said, and he meant it. 'I think I might have actually murdered Mom if she'd kept talking about "ferret pride".'

'Or strangled her with that hat.'

'Or beaten her to death with that mug.'

Veronica snorted. 'I get it. She was like this when I went here.' She pressed a hand to her chest, her voice growing teary. 'I can't believe you're carrying on the family legacy,' she said, pretending to wipe away a tear. 'I'm so proud!'

Lance rolled his eyes and reached for his stuff, clearing some space off the bed. He sat and lay back on the mattress, feeling exhausted. The ceiling above him was so different to the one he had at home - the rough cream paint was cracked and webbed, and faded like it hadn't been painted over in years. He spotted a water stain in the corner and wrinkled his nose. So much for a top-tier school. 

Veronica joined him on the mattress, her shoulder digging into his bicep. 'Hey,' she said, 'I _am_ proud of you, you know. Getting into college and all that.'

Lance smiled. 'Thanks.'

'Like...I know you worked hard for it.'

He thought about that. 'I did.'

'And if you need me to sneak you booze, I'm totally okay with that. College is hard, and we all need our coping mechanisms. But don't tell Mom and Dad.'

Lance laughed. There was a knock at the door, and they sat up. His parents were smiling in the doorway, a tray of coffee cups in his father's hand. 

'You're all done,  _hijo_?' his Mom asked, looking around the room. Lance got to his feet, gesturing at the pile of stuff on the bed and floor. 

'Yep,' he said, 'all done.'

His mother nodded, and then she was sobbing, and he was hugging her. He felt her hands clutch at the front of his shirt, and he ran his hand over her back. He met his father's gaze over his mother's shoulder and saw his Dad was on the verge of crying too, and that made Lance almost start crying, and soon they were all a big, crying mess, and Lance was being squashed in the middle of everyone else's arms. And he had to admit, he kind of savoured the moment, because it would be his last family hug for a while. 

Once they'd all calmed down (Veronica had disappeared to find a mirror and redo her mascara) his mom set one of the coffee cups on the tiny desk pushed against the wall at the foot of Lance's desk. She turned to her so and cupped Lance's face in her hands.

'We're so proud of you,' she said, and Lance could see she was close to tearing up again. His heart thumped in his chest, warm and sad all at once. 'All of us. Your brothers and sisters, me and your father. We're so proud of you.' She pulled his head down and pressed a sloppy kiss to his forehead, before pulling away and blowing her nose into a tissue. 

Lance accepted the crushing hug from his father with a grunt and a hair ruffle, the not-so-gentle punch in the arm from Veronica. And then his family was gone. 

Lance looked around the tiny room and let out a sigh. This was his life now, for the next four years. Cramped quarters, instant noodles, late nights. Depressing, peeling paint on the ceiling, a water stain his only company. He knew what to expect; he'd seen Veronica hustle through it, had seen her on her worst days when she'd been zombie-like and grumpy and only awake because she'd had five shots of espresso in a row. But Veronica was Veronica - she was smart, and savvy, and she knew what she wanted. 

He sat on the edge of the bed and cupped his face with his chin. He could hear people rushing around in the halls outside, voices loud and untempered, furniture banging into walls. He slid his hands up and pressed the balls of his hands into his eye sockets, pushing tightly until he saw spots on the back of his eyelids. His stomach twisted nervously, the homesickness already tugging inside of him and telling him to run after his family. He ignored it. 

He wasn't sure he was ready for any of this. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello and welcome!
> 
> So this is the first Voltron fic I've posted, but not the first I've ever written. I have used my artistic license at points and done what felt right for the characters.
> 
> Also I know little to nothing about American colleges, so I went stereotypical and combined a few elements to give this fic a nice feel to it.
> 
> This will mostly be written from Lance's perspective, maybe from some other characters POV as I go depending on plot etc. Not sure how updating is gonna go, but we shall see. 
> 
> Anyway, thank you so much for reading! If you have any feedback at all, let me know. Your comments are most welcome. If you have any ideas on where you would like this to go/scenes you would like to see, hit me up. I'm happy to include suggestions because I don't have a cemented idea of plot points, just a general idea and an ending. 
> 
> Love and joy to you all - j.a.w.


	2. Oh My God, They Were Roommates

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More characters come into play.

Lance was almost done unpacking (did he actually pack six pairs of jeans or had that been his mom?) when the door opened. A gaggle of voices burst into the room, and Lance hurriedly shove his underwear back into his bag and kicked the bag into the closet. He couldn't let anyone see he owned a pair of boxers that had a dolphin pattern.

A guy and two women walked in, and Lance assumed the guy was his roommate. He was tall, taller than Lance, and probably twice as big. Lance could see corded muscles bursting from underneath the guy's shirt, and he shoved down a whimper than threatened to break out when he realised his roommate could probably snap him like a twig if he was pissed off enough. Lance had to remind himself that this wasn't prison. He certainly wasn't planning on pissing off his roommate if he could avoid it.  

His roommate set two massive suitcases on his bed and flashed Lance a wide, sunny grin, and every feeling of foreboding Lance had dissipated at the sight of that friendly smile. 'I'm Hunk,' the guy said, holding his hand out. Lance took it, feeling the warmth under his fingers. Hunk oozed charisma. 

'Lance,' he replied. Hunk withdrew and opened his suitcases, pulling out clothes, shoes, linen. Lance stood awkwardly by the closet - he wasn't sure he was prepared to show his underwear to the two women who were gossiping in the corner, their eyes wandering over Lance and his things and the bed and the walls. Lance felt like he was on display. Hunk seemed to notice this, because he spoke quietly to his family in a language that sounded like French, and the two women were hugging him and kissing him and leaving as abruptly as they'd arrived. 

Hunk smiled apologetically once they were gone. 'I'm sorry,' he said. 'They were only supposed to drop me off, but my mom insisted on seeing the room.'

'Dude, I know how you feel,' Lance said. 'My parents took a tour of the whole campus.' 

'Is your family still here?'

Lance shook his head. 'They had to head back to California. Where are you from?'

'Hawaii. But my family is from Haiti.'

Lance smiled. 'Mine's from Cuba.'

Lance reached for his DVD box and started settling his favourites on the shelf over his desk; he'd had to leave most of them at home, so only the essentials had come with him. Lord of the Rings, Indiana Jones, and of course-

'Is that a collector's edition?'

Lance glanced down at the Star Wars box-set in his hand, and grinned. 'Right, you are,' he said, in his best Yoda impression (which was mediocre at best. His brother Marco did a better one). 

Hunk's laughed, his eyes shining gleefully like a little kid's on Christmas. 'Lance, I think this is the start of a beautiful friendship.'

 

* * *

 

The first week of college blurred into a mess of faces, names, and the growing apprehension that finals were only a few months away. Lance had signed up for a variety of classes, most of them stuff he wasn't really interested in but needed for his scholarship. He already felt the pressure clutching at his throat, so he made a point of finding a study group in each class he went to in an attempt to ease his stress. He was quickly discovering that every other freshman was as freaked out as he was. 

Hunk, as it turned out, was a giant teddy bear in disguise. Lance had discovered quickly that Hunk made friends as easily as breathing - they already had plans with almost everyone on the two other floors in their building to go out to orientation parties, and Lance had scored about a dozen invites to parties and events later on in the semester. Hunk seemed to know everyone, and everyone knew Hunk, and Lance by association. 

'Dude, you're like a freaking Jedi,' Lance had whispered to Hunk one night, when Hunk had somehow managed to trade the promise of cupcakes for a guy's beanbag. The guy was busy trying to fit the giant beanbag out through his door without splitting the seams. 

Hunk had shot him a sneaky grin. 'I'm not,' he'd said, 'I'm just a really good baker. You'll find that out when you try my brownies.'

As far as roommates went, Lance had scored pretty well. 

Their duo became a trio when he met Pidge in week three. Lance had returned late from the library, already feeling snowed under by the amount of reading he had to do and looking forward to passing out on his lumpy mattress. Instead, he'd come home to find a tiny person spread out on his bed, laptop balancing on their knees, the glow of the screen reflecting in their giant, round glasses.

Lance stopped in his tracks, his book bag hanging off his shoulder. Hunk was hunched over his desk, headphones on, furiously writing notes on a notepad. 

'Uh...hi?' Lance said, dumping his bag on his desk. He wondered if there was a polite way to ask someone to get the hell off your bed. 

The person glanced up at him. 'You must be Lance,' they said, and went back to their computer.

Lance stood there awkwardly and then tapped on Hunk's shoulder. Hunk waved him away, but he tried again and a few moments later Hunk sat back in his chair and took off his headphones with a disgruntled groan. 'Okay, what?'

Lance gestured helplessly at the person on his bed, his hand waving between the bed and Hunk and back again. He let out a wordless whine, his brain too fried to formulate a question without sounding like an asshole. 

Hunk blinked. 'Oh. That's Pidge. We have Intro to Computer Science together,' Hunk said, as if that explained why Lance's territory had been invaded. Hunk got to his feet, stretching his arms towards the roof, his shirt pulling up over his belly. 'I'm gonna get a coffee.' And with that, he was gone.

Lance stared at the closed door helplessly. He considered taking a nap in Hunk's bed, but the guy liked to snack. Lance was fairly convinced their room was going to be infested with ants within the next few weeks. 

'Hey,' the person called Pidge said. 'You wanna watch Battlestar Galactica?' They sat up and shuffled over on the bed, their short hair a wild halo around their huge glasses. 

Lance thought about it for a moment, and then slumped in defeat. 'Sure.'

Pidge made regular appearances after that, always willing to talk to Lance about movies or games. He found out Pidge had a Playstation in their room, and he spent many sleepless nights playing games. Pidge was fifteen, and terrifyingly smart, graduating high school early and coming to Garrison University to study computer science and IT. Lance soon grew protective of Pidge in the same way he was protective of his siblings, but he worked out quickly that Pidge didn't need protection after witnessing them down a can of mountain dew, crushing it in their hand and then proceeding to argue with a professor about the physics of time travel, eventually winning. 

Lance was not only intimidated, but impressed. 

 

* * *

 

Autumn blew in early, wind blowing cool in the morning and carrying with it oak leaves that coated every surface available, painting Garrison University a collage of oranges and reds and browns. The air was brisk, sweaters came out of hibernation, and everywhere you turned you could hear someone complaining about how cold it was, and another person complaining that it wasn't cold enough.

Lance had never liked autumn. He enjoyed summer, the sizzling heat, the dry air. Summer reminded him of Cuba, of growing up in Varadero, of beach days and ice cream and sand stuck between his toes. The minute the weather turned cold, he felt like the energy was seeping out of him, like he was solar-powered and the grey sky was a blanket smothering him. 

He was meeting Allura and Romelle at the campus coffee shop. He'd met the two girls at a party earlier in the semester, and had quickly developed a crush on both of them (as Lance was wont to do). Allura and he had the same professor for poly-sci, and he used the connection to set up regular study dates, only to find out later that he needed all the help he could get for poly-sci because poly-sci was a stupid subject that he hated with every fibre of his being. His infatuation with the two girls had simmered out quickly, and now it felt like he was back home, being teased by his sisters. 

He spotted Allura across the café and waved, pointing at the counter. She nodded and turned back to Romelle, the two of them gossiping about something in quick, quiet tones. Lance rubbed his hands together, trying to shake the cold out of his joints, and approached the counter, his eyes glued to the menu on the wall above.  

'How can I help you?' 

The voice sounded bored. Lance shifted his gaze to the cashier. He was about Lance's age, with shaggy black hair and eyebrows that seemed to be permanently furrowed. A scar ran across his face, a thin slash that began underneath his eye and ran down to his chin. He watching Lance with such intensity that Lance almost dropped his wallet, pulled into those dark eyes like they were a vacuum. Lance was suddenly all hot flashes and fumbling words as he placed his order. 

'M-mocha latte. No whip. Uhhhh...large. To go. Please. Thanks.'

The guy surveyed him carefully for a moment before punching in his order. 'Four dollars.'

Lance passed over the cash and stuffed a crumpled dollar into the tip jar before hurrying over to the waiting area, his ears burning. He kept shooting glances at the counter, watching the guy take more orders and then join his coworker on the coffee machine. Lance noticed the way he flipped his hair out of his eyes, the way he quickly and expertly made each drink, the way he was making eye contact with Lance, his mouth moving, those eyes looking straight into his own-

Oh, shit. 

Lance hurried forward and grabbed his drink from the cashier, mumbling a thank you. There was a brief moment when their fingers touched, and the contact sent a spark shuddering up Lance's arm. 

The coffee shop disappeared. Lance inhaled sharply when his mind was harangued by flashes of images and sounds. 

_...arguing about who got to fly the which lion, using his shield to protect his teammates, firing on enemies that fired back, a flash of a smile, words of encouragement, pain and heartbreak..._

_And a single voice. '_ _We are a good team.'_

Lance jerked the coffee cup away. The sound returned around him, and it was like nothing had happened. The images were already fading. No one had noticed a thing. 

No one, except for the cashier, who was looking at him like he'd just watched Lance try to eat his own foot. Lance felt his heart hammering in his chest, and he squeezed the coffee cup tightly, holding the cashier's gaze for as long as he dared. 

'Did you...see that?' he asked tentatively. Maybe he hadn't imagined it.

The guy turned away, his face unreadable. 'No.'

Somehow, Lance didn't believe him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's ya boi, back at it again at Krispy Kreme.
> 
> Please let me know what you thought! I appreciate comments and criticisms in (un)equal measure, so fire away. I'm aware that there are a lot of head-canons in here and maybe some characterisation people don't agree with, but I'm going with my gut. Sue me (please don't sue me I'm poor). 
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> \- j.a.w.


	3. Confusion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Lance can't stop thinking about the new barista at the coffee house.

Lance sat down at the table in the corner, placing his drink among the precariously balanced piles of books and notebooks and stationary. Romelle and Allura barely looked up at him, their voices quiet and soft. He caught the end of their conversation - something about a girl called Asher? Asia? Lance wasn't paying enough attention to catch her name. 

He glanced over at the counter; the cashier was still going about his business like nothing had happened. Lance rubbed the knuckles on his right hand; he could almost feel his fingers tingling like they had before. He couldn't catch the memories when he reached for them. They drifted away like vapour, intangible.

'Do you guys know that barista?' he asked.

The girls stopped talking. Romelle tilted her head and leaned sideways to get a better view, her long hair swinging towards the floor. She shook her head. 'I think he's new.' She straightened. 'Why? Did he spit in your drink or something?' she giggled. 

Lance smiled slightly. 'No, I...' he rubbed his hand absently. 'There was a weird moment at the counter.'

'Did he say something to you?' Romelle asked, leaning forward curiously. 

'That's just it,' Lance said. 'He didn't _say_ anything at all.'

Allura touched his shoulder, looking worried. 'You okay?'

He ran a hand through his hair. 'Yeah, I just...' He shook his head. 'I'm just tired. What are we dishing about?'

Romelle leaned forward, resting her chin on her folded hands. 'There's this girl in our dorm and we want her to teach us karate. She's, like, a blackbelt...'

Lance grinned and let the conversation resume, sipping absent-mindedly on his drink. Maybe he  _was_ just tired. Or stressed. Or he was having a breakdown.

Whatever was going on, he was going try to get to the bottom of it. 

 

* * *

 

Lance couldn't sleep. He lay on his back, staring up at the ceiling, counting the cracks in the paint. 

It was twice now that he'd had strange premonitions he couldn't seem to remember. He'd thought it had been a wacky nightmare the first time, but now he wasn't sure what to call it. Deja vu didn't seem to fit; neither did daydreaming. Maybe there was a glitch in the Matrix.

He rolled over onto his stomach, burying his face in his pillow. He was so tired, but his brain didn't seem to want to shut up. His mind drifted back to the cashier, his mess of black hair, that piercing gaze...

_'...I just wanted to talk to you because...well, because I've been worrying about something.'_

_'Must really be bothering you if you're coming to talk to me.'_

_'Well, I mean, you're the leader now, right?'_

Lance's eyes shot open. Daylight poured through the window, sunbeams making a patchwork of the wall. Hunk was already gone, his bed covers thrown back in a tangled mess. 

Lance ran his hand over his face, squeezing his cheeks between his thumb and forefinger. He didn't remember the rest of the dream he'd had, but he knew it was like the one he'd had the night before he'd come to college. There was something about the voice he'd heard, something familiar. The words were slipping away, but his skin itched with urgency, like his subconscious was pushing him towards something. 

That made three incidents, by his count. 

He let out a grunt of irritation and threw back the sheets, grabbing his jeans off the floor. He was late for class. The dreams could wait. 

 

* * *

 

He was sitting on Pidge's floor, watching as they smashed their way through Crash Bandicoot. Apparently, Pidge was trying to set a new record on how fast one could race through a level while collecting a high score. Lance chewed absentmindedly on some red vines, not really concentrating on what Pidge was doing. He had managed to avoid thinking about the barista, and the weird dreams, for most of the day. But now he didn't have anything else to distract him, except Pidge's occasional victorious yelling and the various sounds of the video game. 

Pidge reached the end of a level, and paused the game, getting up off the bed to stretch. Lance turned to them, a red vine half hanging out of his mouth. 

'Can I ask you something?' he said. He wasn't entirely sure why he was bringing it up, but Pidge was smart, and Lance was distracted. 

'Sure.'

'Have you ever had a dream you thought was real?' he blurted out. 

Pidge closed their eyes. 'Yeah. I once dreamt that I won a Nobel Prize. It was glorious. My acceptance speech won awards. And then my trophy turned into a slug.'

'That's...not what I meant.'

Pidge flopped onto their stomach, arms hanging over the side of the bed. They snatched the red vine packet out of Lance's lap and shoved one in their mouth. 'Explain.'

Lance spun around, facing the bed. He may as well give it a shot while he'd already stepped in it. 'Okay, like, a while ago, I had this dream, and it was like I was remembering this whole other life. Like all these feelings and memories rushing in all at once, but when I woke up I didn't remember much of it. And I didn't think anything of it because dreams are weird, you know?'

Pidge waved a red vine in understanding.

'But then I was at the coffee house the other day, and there's this new barista, and I accidentally touched his hand when I took my drink and it was like I was having another dream, all over again - like I was remembering this whole other life, but this time it wasn't a dream. I was awake, and it was over in a second.'

'And this happened when you touched his hand?' Pidge said. 

'Yeah. And then I had another dream last night, and I woke up and all day I've had this feeling like I'm missing something, or like I know something and it's on the tip of my tongue but I can't quite remember it.'

Pidge gazed at him quizzically from behind their glasses. 'Are you high?' they asked eventually.

'Not that I know of.'

Pidge frowned, rubbing their chin slowly. 'Sounds to me like you've got a first class case of...stress.'

'Ugh.' Lance let out a groan and turned back around, rubbing his cheek. 'Forget I said anything.'

There was a pause. 'Okay.' Pidge sat back up, grabbing the Playstation controller and returning to the game, and Lance sank further onto the floor, tucking his chin against his chest. If Pidge couldn't give him an explanation, he wasn't sure anyone could. 

 

* * *

 

He waited until Hunk was showering before he opened his laptop. Lance tapped at the keyboard gently - "waking dreams" - and hit the enter key. 

Wikipedia was unhelpful. 

_Hypnagogia - the experience of the transitional state from wakefulness to sleep._ He hadn't been sleeping when he'd been at the coffee house. 

The Collin's Dictionary had a more suitable definition. 

_Waking dream; an experience you have while you are awake that feels similar to dreaming._ That explained the waking vision. 

He frowned when he came across a third definition. That sounded more like what he was experiencing. 

_Threshold consciousness describes the same mental state of someone who is moving towards sleep or wakefulness, but has not yet completed the transition._

Lance thought back to what he could remember - flashes of light and emotions, like he was remembering something he'd seen when he'd been a kid, and the faintest memory of a voice that he'd heard somewhere before. 

_Not yet completed the transition._

He toyed with the idea. What if he _was_ stuck? What if he was caught in limbo, a purgatory between whatever the dreams held for him and the world he currently inhabited? 

And the trigger was falling asleep, or touching that cashier's hand. 

Lance snapped the laptop shut with a snort. This was all a load of bullshit - life wasn't like this. Dreams weren't something he could believe; they were unreliable, an imagination running wild. The fact that he was even considering that this was anything more than random chance just showed that he was more far gone than he'd thought. 

But maybe there was a way to prove his sanity. 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope y'all like this so far! Give me some love, I beg you. I thrive on validation.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


End file.
